


spit-kissing on my sickbed

by fernfuneral



Series: we’ll hang my halo on the wreck [4]
Category: Hunt Down The Freeman (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, adam has trauma hehe, i spent to fuckin long on this what the FUCK, my mind is huge, posting it now bcuz my hyperfix is sorta dead so i might as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernfuneral/pseuds/fernfuneral
Summary: "It was the sort of thing that’d been building for months. Years if you listened to Nick, but Adam was of the opinion that listening to Nick was something you should never do. Not because he was usually wrong, but because he was usually right, and Adam was entirely too uncomfortable with being understood for that to be something he recommended."or, adam and mitch zero IQ momence
Relationships: Adam (Hunt Down the Freeman)/Nick (Hunt Down the Freeman), Mitchell Shephard/Adam (Hunt Down The Freeman), Mitchell Shephard/Adam (Hunt Down the Freeman)/Nick (Hunt Down the Freeman)
Series: we’ll hang my halo on the wreck [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853779
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	spit-kissing on my sickbed

Mitchell was bound to find out eventually. Adam had been prepared for that, expected it, but there was a difference between expecting something and actually going through it. He felt sort of like he’d gone off the edge of a cliff and the ground was nowhere in sight. He felt a bit like someone had hollowed him out, a bit like he was on fire, Mitchell’s trailing hands setting him ablaze.

Regardless, there was only so long Mitchell could go without realizing that one of his closest friends had been—and still was—hung up on him for a quarter of a decade. 

(Adam was steadfastly avoiding the word love. Love was something big, something special, and something that he was entirely sure he didn’t deserve to feel. Love meant a lot of things, and Adam wasn’t equipped to handle any of them.)

It was the sort of thing that’d been building for months. Years if you listened to Nick, but Adam was of the opinion that listening to Nick was something you should never do. Not because he was usually wrong, but because he was usually right, and Adam was entirely too uncomfortable with being understood for that to be something he recommended. 

Nevertheless, it’d been building for months, and Adam had been expecting it to come to a head eventually. Granted, he’d assumed it would culminate in Mitch beating the shit out of him and then dropping him off on the nearest landmass to never see again. As usual, the ex-marine proved him wrong. Mitch had a nasty habit of doing that. No, instead Mitchell was making out with him in a supply closet. Had been the one to initiate said making out in a supply closet. 

Adam was seriously considering the possibility that this was a dream. He almost pinched himself, but he could barely form a coherent thought, there was no way he could bring himself to do anything but let Mitch continue to kiss him. He wondered if this was what dying peacefully felt like and then decided that perhaps he’d be alright dying if Mitchell was next to him.

Mitch pushed him against the wall, one hand lingering on Adam’s hip while the other reached up to hold his face. His hands were cold, although not uncomfortably so. He was being strangely gentle, as if he was afraid he’d scare the other, hand curling carefully around the bottom of Adam’s jaw. The kiss deepened while Adam attempted to think anything beyond absolute nonsense and a constant mantra of Mitch’s tongue is in my mouth holy shit, failing miserably. He barely even registered the broom behind him clattering to the floor, too caught up in the way Mitch was biting his bottom lip. The other’s hand tightened where it was resting on his hip, fingers toying with the edge of Adam’s shirt. Holy fuck. 

A part of him absently worried that they were being too loud. That one of the kids, or worse, Nick would find them; the larger part of him that had been thinking about doing this for the better half of the past five years paid it no notice. Mitch’s mouth tasted like toothpaste and the coppery tang of dried blood. A strange combination, and one that should’ve been disgusting, but Adam was apparently too far gone to care. 

It hit him then that he was finally doing something he’d been thinking about for… a very long time. Years, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him, you’ve been thinking about this for years. Traitor. That made him sound like he’d been pining after Mitch like some lovelorn teen, which was both false and unflattering. He’d been pining after Mitch like the mature adult he was, thank you very much.

Mitch made a small noise in the back of his throat as Adam surged forwards, crowding the other against the opposite wall. Mitchell’s hand slipped beneath his shirt, palm just barely brushing the bare skin on Adam’s hip. His hand lingered on Adam’s side, inciting a slight shiver down the aforementioned man’s spine. Adam tugged Mitch’s lip between his teeth, planting his hands on the other man’s waist as he pulled him closer. 

He hoped this wasn’t a one-time thing. That this wasn’t some kind of stress release for Mitchell, because if it was, Adam was going to regret this later. He wouldn’t put it past the other, Mitch sure wasn’t known for his emotional intelligence. 

Not that Adam was unfamiliar with the concept of regretting things pertaining to Mitchell Shephard. He was quite well-versed in it, considering how they met. Or rather, how Adam completely botched what was supposed to be a clean kill and ended up… here. A cold feeling flooded away the warmth of the kiss as he was reminded of the events in Black Mesa. He usually avoided it when he could, but on bad days it was a lot harder. And apparently, today was a bad day.

Suddenly the taste of blood in Mitch’s mouth bothered Adam a whole lot more.

He pulled back, stomach dropping as his mind replayed the moment he shot Mitchell, stuttering over the memories from that day like a broken record. Bile rose in his throat, burning sharply as he avoided Mitch’s questioning gaze. For a moment he feared that his discomfort would show on his face, but Mitch just looked confused, not angry. He averted his eyes. It was hard to look at him.

“Sorry- sorry. I can’t.”

“Adam?” Mitchell’s voice was guarded, his walls already beginning to rise again, and Adam knew he’d fucked something up. 

“Fuck, sorry, I-”

“It’s fine.” It was not fine whatsoever, Adam was sure of that. 

Mitchell pushed off of the wall, hands smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket. His eyes were hard. 

“No, I-”

“It’s fine.” He repeated, voice leaving no room for argument. Adam closed his mouth. “You better not say anything about this to anyone, alright?”

Fuck.

“Mitch…” The other man straightened, crossing his arms as he gave Adam a calculated impassive stare, a slight warning in his eyes. Maybe Adam hadn’t escaped getting his shit wrecked by Mitch. Great. “Right. Yeah. My lips are sealed.”

“Good.” Mitchell turned, his back to Adam, and his shoulders were tight. Adam tried to not let his gaze linger, instead looking resolutely at a point above Mitch’s head. “Don’t follow me.”

And then he was gone. 

Fuck, Adam was regretting that already.

—

A shiver ran down Adam’s spine as a cold gust of wind hit his back. Mitchell was lecturing the children on the deck and, as always, Adam and Nick were stationed on the other side of him, attempting to look imposing as gales of arctic wind whipped around them. The chill of the air had long since settled deep in his chest, and it was the type of cold where it hurt to breathe too deeply. Of course, Mitch had decided to make his speech especially long-winded. Joy. 

Things were tense after the incident in the closet, to say the least. Nick seemed to know that something was wrong, as he kept sending Adam knowing looks from behind Mitch’s back. Adam was decidedly ignoring them. He was aware that he hadn’t been the most subtle when it came to his attraction to Mitch—to people who knew him, at least—but Nick seemed to know it ran deeper than that. He didn’t want to have to explain to the other man that he fucked up everything with Mitch because of a trauma reaction that he shouldn’t even be having.

It was hard enough to look at Mitch’s scars without feeling the phantom weight of a crowbar in his hands. What right did he have to feel that way? He wasn’t the victim. This would be so much easier if he hadn’t gotten attached. If it had just stayed as simple as pretending to be Mitch’s friend to get safe passage out of Albuquerque. He hadn’t counted on enjoying Mitchell’s company, hadn’t planned on staying for this long. Adam should’ve left when he said he was going to. 

But no. He couldn’t leave now. It’d been five years, long enough now that he couldn’t imagine leaving Mitch, leaving Nick. They’d created a life out here, and somehow, he was a part of it. He hated it and loved it in equal measure. The lies he told them—told himself every day—sat heavily on his chest, but at this point, it felt like a layer of skin had grown over the armor they formed around him. Perhaps if it was still that first year, he could have torn it off, but now to leave it behind felt like leaving a part of himself. The pool of guilt in his stomach was deep, thick, and viscous in his gut, but even still. It was easier to say nothing. 

Adam gave Mitch and Nick as much of himself as possible, and he could only hope that it was enough. 

Mitch finished his speech to the troops before them, something Adam had, admittedly, tuned out entirely in his introspection. The kids fell into a loose echo of the parade rest they’d been standing in moments before, milling around aimlessly on the deck, and Mitch turned to look at the men behind him. His eyes barely passed over his second-in-command before sliding away to Nick, a clear dismissal, and Adam tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped in disappointment.

“Nick, my office in thirty.” Mitchell glanced at Adam, gaze darkening for a split second, before he looked back at the other man, schooling his face once more. “Dismissed.”

A thick silence fell between Nick and Adam as Mitch turned and walked away, back stiff. Adam pretended that his chest didn’t feel like a black hole of regret, poised to consume him. He was entirely, woefully unsuccessful.

Finally, Mitchell disappeared into the innards of the ship and Nick turned to Adam, face unreadable. 

“What the hell happened between you two?” Ah, so they were doing this now. He didn’t want to talk about it. Just deflect and he’ll drop it. It was a stupid idea, and Adam knew it. Nick would never fall for it. Adam forced his face to go blank, carefully siphoning any emotion from his expression.

“Between me and who?” Right, apparently he was going to deflect.

“Don’t act like you don’t understand, I saw how Mitch was acting during his speech.”

“Well, I’m sure you saw something.”

Nick looked a bit as if he was considering pushing Adam over the side of the boat, which would be cruel and unusual punishment, especially in the temperatures that were rapidly approaching subzero.

“You can play dumb all you want, Adam, but I know you. Something is wrong.” His voice and expression softened a bit as he spoke, a begrudging fondness tinging his words. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me and don’t be an evasive ass, alright?”

“I reserve the right to remain silent.” And the look of vaguely homicidal frustration was back. Adam would find it funny if he didn’t feel as if some homunculus of guilt was trying to claw its way out of his stomach. He wished he was alone. Everything was much too loud.

Nick heaved an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why I even bother. You’ll never change.”

Adam could pretend that didn’t sting. It was fine, Nick would be saying much worse if he knew what Adam had done. This was better. 

Maybe if he continued repeating it, he’d make it true.

The other man turned, walking away down the deck, and he was followed by the last few groups of kids who had not yet fled from the cold. The air was silent other than the soft lap of waves at the hull, and he wandered to the rail, peeking over the side. Somehow, inexplicably, Adam was completely alone. It didn’t feel as calming as he thought it would.

The ocean was something that had always put him on edge. He wasn’t scared of it, no, but something about how endless it felt made him nervous. The pitch and swirl of the waves in the approaching dusk mirrored the pit in his stomach perfectly.

Adam wondered how Mitch would react if, no, when he found out that Adam had been the man who hurt him in Black Mesa. He knew that Mitch hadn’t forgotten about it. Adam wouldn’t expect him to. He sure hadn’t. Looking at Mitch was like playing a constant game of Russian roulette where the gun was fully loaded. Sometimes it’d be that hopeless rush of attraction and affection, the type that almost overwhelmed him in its intensity; but that was rare, and it was usually the slow seep of disgust at what Adam had done to the other man. He wondered if Mitch would kill him. Adam would if he were in the other’s position. He didn’t think that he would stop the other if Mitch decided death was the only punishment Adam deserved.

He was much too large of a coward to bring it about on his own, but if it was Mitch…

Adam did not think himself in a position to argue.

He sighed, pushing off of the railing to head below decks. His cheeks stung from the bite of the air, wind cutting sharply against his exposed skin. Adam had always been susceptible to the cold, but he’d never felt such a bone-deep chill as this one. Then again, he hadn’t been spending any time up near the arctic before everything went to shit.

He wondered what Nick and Mitch were talking about, and a small part of him wondered if they were talking about him. He didn’t believe that to be realistic, though, as Mitchell very rarely spoke on his feelings and Nick had long since learned not to press. And Mitch had already made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Adam. Nick may not know what was going on, but they’d all gotten quite well-versed in reading the others over the years. Secrets were secrets, and none of them felt any need to investigate any of the other men. 

The comfort of being known by someone was vastly outweighed by the security of anonymity, Adam thought. It was a sad existence, to proceed through life alone, but it was safe, and he shouldn’t miss something he’d never had in the first place.

The sun was setting on the deck, golden rays all too beautiful for the harsh steel they fell upon, and he was so, so tired. Maybe he’d skip dinner tonight, fall asleep instead. Oblivion would be a reprieve compared to this.

His hands shook. He pretended it was because of the cold.

—

The winding linoleum-tiled hall was dark, flickers of light shivering through the whining bulbs overhead like the death throes of an ancient goliath. Black Mesa was dying, and it was dying quickly. It wouldn’t be long until the military finished it off, Adam knew. His boots echoed as he walked, the noise echoing through the halls.

He had something to do. Something he needed to do. He couldn’t recall what it was.

His brain felt stuffed full of cotton, and his feet seemed to be moving of their own accord. Adam turned his head, looking around the hallway for some indication as to why he was here. He couldn’t remember arriving and objectively that should bother him, he knew it should, but it didn’t.

His legs continued to march him down the hall, boots slipping in the pooling blood on the floor. That hadn’t been there before, which was… worrying. Adam looked down. A slow seep of gore was flooding out from the juncture of the walls and the floor, thick and viscous. A metallic tang tinted the air, leaving the heavy dust of copper in the back of his throat.

Adam’s shoes squeaked as the fluid smeared beneath them, and yet he could not stop himself from continuing to walk forwards. He had to reach the end of the hall. It was a pull he couldn't have resisted if he wanted to. Nothing was more important than reaching the end. 

His eyes fixed on the wall he was approaching. There was a door, he could see it. It was the door to Mitch’s office, and then he blinked, and it was the door to Nick’s room. Another blink, it was the elevator door from Albuquerque. One more, and it was the hotel doorway that Mitch had walked through, wholly, entirely, impossibly alive. 

A sudden weight on his arms made them dip, and he looked down to see they were clad in the cold metal of the HEV suit. A crowbar sat in his hands, metal burnished with a crust of blood. His breath left his chest is a shaky gust, wavering as he felt the phantom swing of his arms, the imagined impact of the crowbar fresh in his mind. And then the illusion flickered away, and he was back in his Ops uniform, gun held steady against his chest. His throat felt like it was tied shut.

The door had changed again. Cedar, still and dark, and Adam recognized it immediately. He knew that door, knew each scratch, each nick in the wood. He knew that it jammed in the winter, that the hinges screamed in the summer. Adam hated that door. It terrified him. 

His hand was reaching for the doorknob. The tips of his fingers barely brushed it and the familiar click of the lock disengaging rang through the air. It was time to go through. He hesitated. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see what was on the other side. Adam turned, looking for any other option. There was nothing. The hallway was a dead end, and the blood was rising, and he knew he couldn’t fight this.

He pushed the door. It swung open, creaking softly, and Adam’s stomach dropped as he stepped through it and saw the room he’d emerged into.

The bedroom was small, the sun-bleached and threadbare quilt draped on the bed a faded relic of a faded time. The window was open, a soft summer breeze wafting in, and Adam felt as if his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. It was idyllic, a child’s paradise, and he despised it. Adam turned a slow circle, hands limp at his side, gun barely scraping the floor. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. His breath shuddered through his lungs, wheezing out like a car with a broken engine. 

The familiar haze of fear was coating him again, falling over him like a second skin. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He would never be that kid again. And still, here he was, in his childhood bedroom, breathless.

The door shut downstairs. There was blood running down the walls. The house shook like it was about to collapse, and Adam could hear the reedy timbre of his mother’s voice below him. He hated how the sound made him react, even now. The furniture in his room was covered in a layer of dust.

His mind was running itself in circles, leaving it heaving and frothing in the cavern of his skull like a wild rabbit escaping a hound. He was out of there. He’d been out of there. He was-

He was standing in his room, arms crossed behind his back as his mother kneeled before him, one finger swiping an errant tear from his face.

“Now, now. Adam, honey, no need to cry. You know why we do this for you.” Her voice was sickly sweet, and he fought back the instinctual flinch that came when she touched his face. She hated it when he flinched.

“You’re keeping everyone safe from me. I-“ Her gaze hardened, and the hand on his cheek moved to cup his chin. “I understand, ma’am. I won’t try to do that again.”

“Say it. What will you never do again?” He schooled his expression, refusing to shift in place like he so desperately wanted to. He couldn’t let her see his discomfort.

“I will not try to run away ever again,” The fingers on his chin tightened, nails digging into his jaw. 

She smiled, and it looked like a ravenous wolf had taken his mother’s place, had crammed its teeth and claws and piercing eyes underneath her skin. He braced himself for whatever she would do next. There was always something.

“Good. You and I both know that you are much too dangerous to leave this place, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

“I’m sorry dear, I do believe that you need to repeat that. I could have sworn you stuttered!” She laughed, and it was light and musical in a way that was unbefitting of her character. Adam thought her similar to the sirens in the stories she read him; ugly, wretched creatures who dressed themselves up as something beautiful and sang ships to wreck. She smoothed her other hand over his hair, tangling her fingers in his curls and pulling his chin upwards. When she spoke again her words were hissed through gritted teeth. “You will address me properly, Adam, or else there will be consequences.”

“Yes ma’am.” He wanted her to leave, needed her to leave. 

“That’s better. Dinner will be ready by seven. You will not make me wait, alright, sweetie?” He nodded, eyes deliberately blank, and she smiled that wolf-smile again, and patted his cheek once, twice, before standing and turning to leave his room. Her heels clicked on the floor as she turned, grin still fixed on her face, and backed through the doorway. Then she shut it, and the lock clicked, and Adam was-

alone. The room was empty, and he was alone. White sheets had covered the furniture in his old room, and the curtains were shut on the windows. The lights were off, and his shadow stretched across the room, pulled by the fading sun through the moth-bitten curtains. The house was still. Motionless.

He took a breath, attempting to compose himself. His mother was dead. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. 

His gun was a familiar weight in his hands, and he lifted it to his chest, fingers unconsciously following familiar paths, checking the barrel, the safety. 

She had not been wrong when she called him dangerous. Unfortunately, she had thought herself above such dangers. The woman had forgotten, in her deception, that when one raises a child to believe himself a threat, he becomes one.

Adam’s hands were slick with blood, fingers sliding on his gun’s safety, and he smiled. 

The blood dripped off of his palms, splattering on the floor, and a part of him basked in the act of desecrating the sterility of the room she’d made him clean obsessively. She no longer controlled him. He was alive, and she was not.

He touched the door, and it was unlocked. 

Adam opened it slowly, stepping out into the hall. The floor was rotten beneath him, creaking dubiously as he stepped forwards. The back of his neck burned. He moved to the stairs. There were footsteps behind him. He couldn’t turn around. He wasn’t allowed to turn around.

One step. The wood was mildewed, cracking beneath his boots. His gun was gone.

Another step. Something landed on the stair he’d just left. Light enough to almost escape his notice, but it was there. He would not be fooled.

A third. He felt a hot breath hit his neck, smelled the rancid sweetness of rot. The hairs on his arm rose. 

Four. He ran.

He was being followed.

He vaulted off of the stairs, skidding around the corner to dart into a side hallway. The footsteps behind him grew louder and all at once they were the click of his mother’s heels and the crunch of Mitchell’s boots on broken glass and the assured thump of Nick running and his breath was growing short. He was back in Black Mesa, but then he was running across the deck of the Avalon Vale. A moment later and he was sprinting through his childhood home, chest heaving as he slammed through a doorway and

he was back in the supply closet.

Adam’s mind was racing as he searched for an escape. His gun was gone, and the thing was rapidly approaching down the hall, footsteps ever-shifting. He backed against the far wall, hand grappling blindly for a broom, anything to protect himself with. The steps neared the door, and Adam could see the slow flow of blood down the hallway, proceeding whatever was coming.

A shadow in the doorway. If Adam believed that there was any deity out there who cared for him, he would’ve been praying. His hands were shaking, eyes fixed on the door ahead of him.

Slowly, slow enough to be agonizing, his mother stepped through. Her brows were creased in an expression of displeasure, one that had Adam instinctually standing taller, back straightening. The paint was curling off of the walls around her as she stalked forwards, heels clicking against the floor with an unavoidable finality.

“You-” She cut herself off, words hissing out of her like they were gusts of air leaving a punctured tire. “You ungrateful brat.”

A perfectly manicured fingernail pointed at him, blood red. “After everything I did for you? It wasn’t enough?”

Black ink was flowing from her mouth and eyes, spilling down onto her blouse. Blood bloomed across her chest, stab wound after stab wound emerging slowly, gore dark through the sheer fabric. Her voice was screeching, raven cries and scratched chalkboards, and suddenly Mitchell was speaking in tandem with his mother. “You killed me.”

And she was gone, Mitchell in her place.

“What did I do to you, Adam?” His skin broke, bruises splattering across his face as his skull dented from an invisible weapon. Mitchell coughed, ragged and creaking, blood spraying Adam’s front. Bile rose in his throat and he tried not to gag. “Is something wrong? Are you disgusted by what you did? I hope you are.

“I hope you remember it every night, hope you can’t fucking look at me without wanting to hurl.” Mitch was snarling now, teeth shattered and loose in his mouth. His nose snapped with a sickening crack. “I hope that one day you feel every hit, every blow.”

Pain erupted across Adam’s face as his knees buckled, eyes locked on the crowbar that’d appeared in Mitch’s hand. Mitchell hefted it, striking it once more across Adam’s cheek. He grinned, blood coating his remaining teeth, and it looked more like a grimace. Adam bent his head, spitting a glob of gore onto the floor as his chest heaved, gasps of pain leaving in quiet gusts of air.

A hand lifted Adam’s chin, and he was eye to eye with Mitch’s corpse. It pulled him closer, breath hot on his face, and kissed him, blood spilling across Adam’s lips. He didn’t know if it was his or the cadaver’s. His breath shuddered, the clammy feeling of the corpse’s skin on his own making his throat constrict.

“You were so eager to kiss me before, when I was whole. Do you not love me? Not as I am now? Is your own handiwork too much for you to look at? You don’t deserve to hate what you’ve done.”

The corpse straightened, dropping Adam back to the ground, eyes cold. Black ink was pooling on the floor below them, swirling with the blood that had leaked in from the hallway. “But he hates you, you know.” 

Adam’s head shot up, and he locked eyes with Nick, who’d appeared in Mitch’s place. The other placed the end of the crowbar under Adam’s chin, tipping his head up and exposing his throat. “He wants nothing to do with you after that whole thing. You know, the supply closet.”

Nick knelt, abandoning the crowbar in favor of cupping Adam’s cheek, hand warm, sticky with blood. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? God, it’s been pathetic watching you chase after him like some lost puppy. Why would he care for you? You!

“Your mother was right. All you are is a danger to everyone else.” He leaned closer, breath hot on Adam’s cheek, lips barely brushing his bruised skin.

He leaned back, forcing Adam’s cheek to the floor with his palm. Adam didn’t fight him, couldn’t have. His vision was whiting out at the edges, and he could feel viscera building in his throat. Finally, Nick lifted his hand and stepped back. For a moment he was Mitch, was Adam’s mother, was Adam himself, and then he was Nick again. “This world that you live in? It was always doomed to fall to ruin. Don’t count on me and Mitch to be there for you when it does.”

Nick turned, leaving Adam behind, and then everything was gone and

he was awake.

—

Adam lay still in his bunk, sheets twisted around him. The sweat coating his back from when he’d woken up—chest heaving, grasping at his throat like he was suffocating—had long since chilled, sitting ice-cold on his spine. He was staring at the ceiling, trying to pick out a pattern in the warped wood. 

It was easier to try to forget his dream. His cheek ached with the illusory blow of steel against his jaw.

His gut was roiling, his breaths coming out short and sharp, and he’d splayed his fingers across his stomach, eyes fixed ahead of him. No use thinking about it. No use dwelling on it. No use. Fuck.

He was thinking about it. 

The click of his mother’s heels echoed in his mind. He’d been doing so good. It had been years since he thought about her for longer than a split second, years since she’d showed up in his dreams. He thought that maybe, maybe he’d finally escaped her when she died.

Adam sat up, hefting himself out of bed. He couldn’t stay here. Usually, on nights like this where his head was much too loud and the rest of the world much too quiet, he’d seek out Mitch. But right now, Mitchell was the last person he wanted to see, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

Nick would listen to him. He knew that. But would he be able to speak? To allow his walls to fall enough for Nick to actually see him? That, he was unsure of. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other. He trusted Nick and Mitch with his life. It was because he trusted Nick that he found himself hesitant.

Would he be able to survive the fallout, when it inevitably came? The thought of being understood overwhelmed him.

He left his bunk, grabbing a shirt from the floor, and pulling it on. The ship was mute, only the echoes of the engine and waves lapping against the hull piercing the quiet. Adam walked carefully down the hall in an effort to preserve the blanket of silence. Eventually, after what felt like hours of staring down at his feet and ignoring the echoes of his mother’s voice—of Mitch’s, of Nick’s—playing on repeat in his head, he reached Nick’s door.

This was stupid. Nick surely wouldn’t appreciate being woken up for something as small as a nightmare. He should just go back. But something about turning around, returning to his empty room with his tiny bunk and itchy sheets felt like giving in. Proving his mother, all of them, his own head, right. Adam may be a coward, but he was as stubborn as he was evasive.

Maybe that’s why he and Mitch got along so well. Used to. Used to get along so well, a voice that sounded all too close to Mitchell’s own reminded him. I’m sure you won’t be getting along much at all, anymore.

He was stalling, goddamnit. His throat tightened as he lifted his hand, tapping the pads of his fingers against the door in a light staccato. It would be so easy to leave. Adam felt like he was going to be sick.

He closed his fingers into a fist, resting his knuckles on the door for a split second before he knocked, the sound ringing out through the empty hall. Too late to turn back now. There was a shuffling on the other side of the door, and he heard the low hum of voices. Adam could pick out Mitch and Nick’s, the sounds familiar in the way all things are after half a decade of close contact. His stomach plummeted, breath quickening. 

Fuck. He should’ve guessed. Of course, Mitch was with Nick. They’d probably been talking about him. Nick barely even tolerated him on a good day, it only made sense that he’d side with the man he trusted more, liked more.

Adam had been so, so stupid.

He’d always been good at pretending he was loved.

The door creaked, opening to reveal Nick. His hair was disheveled, eyes heavy with sleep. He looked at Adam, a question in his eyes, but Adam could barely focus. He could see Mitch, back in Nick’s room. It must have been a bad night for him.

One of the nights where the cold crept in, making his scars ache and his old injuries pull. Mitch hated nights like that. He’d never admit it out loud, but he liked to be near people when they came. Adam thought it might be easier for Mitchell, to be close to another warm body, to have someone else watch over him so he could let down his guard, at least slightly. Usually, that person was Adam. Maybe it was out of some twisted sense of responsibility—to make up for the pain he caused—but something about helping Mitch made the guilt in his stomach quiet. Not entirely, he didn’t think it ever could, but enough. And now, apparently, Mitchell was going to Nick. 

Adam could pretend that it didn’t sting. He was getting awfully good at lying these days.

“Adam? What are you doing here?” Nick was starting to look concerned. Adam didn’t blame him, he must look like a mess.

“Ah- Sorry.” He found his voice quickly, scrambling to cover up for interrupting Nick and Mitch. “Must’ve gotten the wrong door.”

Nick’s face revealed that he was less than convinced. Mitchell was glowering, eyes burning a hole into the side of Adam’s head. Adam pushed off of the doorframe, attempting a disarming smile while locking down the rest of his face. No use giving them something else to talk about. “Well, I guess I’ll be going now. Have fun, you crazy kids.”

He threw in a wink for good measure, ignoring how his heart felt like it was plummeting through the floor. A jaunty wave, slight turn on his heel before he started to walk away. Adam just had to keep up the image until Nick closed the door. A simple mission.

“Adam, wait!”

It felt like there was a ravine opening between him and the other two. Adam didn’t know how to cross it, and he wasn’t sure if they’d even let him. Nick probably just pitied him. It made his skin crawl. He could take anger, could take anything but pity. Adam wasn’t some sort of stray, he didn’t need anyone trying to help him. He’d made it on his own for years and he’d continue to do so until he died.

He threw a smile over his shoulder, keeping his eyes carefully blank. 

“See you in the morning, Nick.”

“Adam!”

He didn’t respond to Nick, waiting for the click of the other’s door closing. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything in return. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of slowly approaching the end of the hallway, the door shut. 

Adam turned the corner as quickly as possible, slumping against the wall, breath coming in shallow gasps. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him. 

But no, this was it. He deserved this. He killed Mitch, he got attached, he lied for years, this was his punishment. He was okay with that because he had to be.

Every day that went by without telling the truth weighed on him, pulled his heart down to the floor and crushed it, slowly, excruciatingly. But he knew why he stayed silent, said nothing. He was selfish. He was so horribly selfish. Adam knew that the moment Nick and Mitch found out, he was gone. Either dead at the bottom of the ocean or dropped on the nearest shore. There was no hope for him, not after what he’d done. And a part of him wanted to get it over with, to tell them and let them enact retribution.

But he would not pretend to be a good person. He would not entertain ideas of telling the truth when he knew he’d never go through with them. All he’d ever known was to take and take and take what he could get, and he knew it was terrible of him. He knew what he was doing was unforgivable. But still, he was never going to be the bigger man. If that meant lying, to himself and the other two? So be it. 

He didn’t want anything but to be seen, for them to understand him and, when the time came, treat him gently as they left him behind. Somehow, unsurprisingly, Adam had already ruined that for himself.

He leaned his head back, knocking it softly on the wall. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Even ignoring how much he deserved this, he didn’t know what had happened in the supply closet to make Mitch stop talking to him. 

But it didn’t matter, not really. What mattered was that he’d made a mistake, years ago, and now he was finally starting to be punished. Maybe retribution would come slowly, build up over the years until it boiled over. Adam could only hope that he’d have some time left, to even just exist near the other two. They made things easier. He would take what he could while he was still able to.

—

The deck of the ship was slick where Adam stood, waiting for Nick and Mitch to come so they could discuss their plans for the next supply run. Typically they’d talk below decks, but Adam found that standing in the cold was preferable to being alone in a room with the other two. It was easier to avoid thinking about the closet, about the night afterward, if he was instead focusing on how freezing it was.

The past few days had been… beyond awkward. Adam was trying his best to avoid the other two, to let them do their thing and keep his distance so that he wouldn’t anger Mitch any more than he already had. Nick had attempted to reach out to him a few times, but it’d only made Adam feel worse. He couldn’t imagine that any of Nick’s attempts to bridge the gap between them were genuine. It was probably a misplaced sense of pity. He couldn’t think of any other reason Nick would be seeking him out.

“Adam, we need to talk, you’re being a stubborn ass.”

“I’m not being anything. I have no clue what you’re going on about.”

“Adam-”

“Drop it, Nick. You’re making things up.”

Adam huffed, watching as his breath swirled through the chilled air. Nick had sighted a city on the shore, so that meant there was likely some sort of food or supply hidden away that the Combine had not yet found. They’d learned over the past half-decade that most cities were either overrun by Combine, or by whoever had survived the initial invasion and gone ignored by the aliens afterward. Very rarely was a city entirely deserted.

They went in groups of two, usually, with one of them staying back to watch the ship and the kids. That meant there was a pretty good chance that Adam was going to hate this run. But beggars can’t be choosers. He’d deal with whatever he got.

Finally, the door leading below-decks creaked open, metal shuddering in the bitter cold. Mitchell exited, stepping carefully onto the damp wood, closing the door behind him. No Nick then. Wonderful. Mitch met Adam’s eyes slowly, brows creased the way they always did when he was incredibly unhappy with a decision. They stared at each other for a second before Mitch turned, feet hammering heavily on the deck as he moved towards the plank leading to the port.

“Nick?” Mitch barely deigned him a response, the only indication that he heard Adam a slight shake of his head. 

“Right, okay.” Adam trailed after Mitch, hands unconsciously drifting down to tap on his gun. “You sure you wouldn’t rather do this with him? I can- I can switch out.”

This time Mitchell didn’t even shake his head, instead just walking a bit faster. Adam was already tired of this. He didn’t think Mitch would respond to any more attempts at conversation, and honestly, Adam wasn’t in the mood to try.

They walked silently off of the Avalon, barely pausing on the pier below before moving in towards the city. The streets were silent, other than the clatter of their footsteps, Adam a half-stride behind Mitch. It was easy to fall into that position—lingering behind the other, a guard at his back—and it almost felt as if nothing had changed. Almost.

The city was eerily still, buildings standing in a hollow parody of what they were before the invasion. This part had seemed to avoid catching the brunt of the damage from the war, leaving instead the empty carcass of a former metropolis. Places like this made Adam nervous. They reminded him all too much of how warped the planet had become in the past half-decade. No matter how unsettled crowds made him, he still preferred them to the absolute barren silence he was all too familiar with now.

Mitch stopped, hand rising to signal for Adam to pause. They listened, poised for action, and Adam could barely make out the echo of footsteps somewhere further into the depths of the city. They were too light for Combine, and they had the familiar cadence only human footsteps held. 

Scavengers, then. Survivors who hadn’t been carted off to one of the Combine strongholds, instead subsisting on whatever edible materials they could find and a worrying deficit of morals. Scavengers meant Adam and Mitch were in… more trouble than they’d planned for. They protected their food with their lives, almost animalistic in their desperation.

Adam fucking hated scavengers.

His hands twisted around his gun, fingers lightly running over it in an informal check. Once he was sure everything was in place, he hefted it closer to his chest, holding it at the ready, and he could see Mitch doing the same with his pistol. Neither of them expected to get out of this without a fight. Their only hope was to clear out the scavengers quickly and without much mess so that they could find any food they’d stored without much issue. Mitchell turned his head, meeting Adam’s eyes, and after a beat, he flicked his gaze in the direction of the noise, finger raised to his lips.

Adam nodded, and they crept forwards together, steps careful. The street was littered with bits of debris that Adam was swerving slightly to avoid. Normally he would have no such reservations, but at the moment even the smallest crunch of shattered glass could spell danger.

Slowly, the duo reached the end of the street, both listening intently to the movements of the scavengers further in. Adam would guess three or four, maybe, and he could only hope that they didn’t have any weapons. An armed scavenger was a lethal scavenger.

The thing with scavengers, Adam thought, that made him dislike them so much was not that he’d had bad experiences with them in the past. If he hated everyone he’d been in a shitty situation with, he wouldn’t be here, walking a pace behind Mitch. No, he hated that they reminded him of himself when he was younger. When he had to fight tooth and nail just to get anything out of the world. Adam was well versed in the deterioration of the human spirit, of what isolation did to a person, even in just a few years. He’d been in that position, once upon a time. So he didn’t blame the scavengers for who they became in their desperation, but he hated them all the same. 

Mitch reached the corner, pressing himself flat against the wall, and Adam mimicked him, hefting his gun closer to his chest. The other turned to look around the corner, before turning back and tilting his head to the left. 

“How many?” Adam’s voice was barely audible, but they were close enough that Mitchell understood, and he held up four fingers in response. 

“Armed?”

He paused, before barely shrugging one shoulder. Couldn’t tell. That was either a good thing or a very bad one. They’d have to use the fact that the scavengers weren’t aware of their presence to their advantage. Adam looked to the sky for a moment before dipping his head back down to stare at their reflections in an unbroken window. “Any food?”

Mitch nodded, taking one hand off his pistol to gesture slightly, something not quite large, but big enough. Hopefully, that meant that they could get a good run out of this. Of course, they’d have to get rid of the obstacle posed by the scavengers.

Adam didn’t hate killing. It sounded horrible, and it was, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel disgusted by the act of taking someone’s life. It had probably bothered him, in the beginning, but eventually, he needed to let it go. He knew how it made him sound. It tore him up sometimes, when it was long past midnight and he couldn’t stop thinking, but it wasn’t the act he hated. Adam hadn’t thought about it, not until Mitch. It wasn’t the act he hated, just the aftermath.

Corpses made him feel sick. Made him feel like he was being consumed by some ravenous beast from the inside out. Bodies meant guilt, and guilt was something Adam stockpiled. He could deal with killing. He couldn’t deal with the dead.

And yet he was still here, with Mitch. Still looked at Mitchell like he was something to cherish, even when Mitch turned away. Was still hopelessly caught in the other’s riptide, being dragged out to sea, equipped with nothing but his childish, treacherous heart. Funny how the world is determined to undermine him at every turn.

He hoped there were no children. He knew Mitchell didn’t care.

Adam closed his eyes, for a second, and mouthed an apology. To Mitch, to Nick, to the people about to die, to himself. An apology to the blank sky above him. To nothing at all.

He watched Mitchell push off of the wall, pistol tight in his hands and joined him, chest tight. The anticipation of something sat low in his gut, tangled and thick. They rounded the corner, Adam a step behind Mitch, and readied their weapons.

The scavengers were about half a block down the street, grouped around a pile of broken boxes, passing food between themselves. They were clad in layers of ill-fitting clothes and talking quietly, shoulders hunched. Even from so far away, Adam could see the sharp cut of their cheekbones, the pitted sallow of their skin. These were dying people. Dangerous people. 

Mitch fired one shot, quick and deadly. The tallest of the group fell, hand clawing at their chest, and the other three turned to where Mitch and Adam were advancing. The scavengers moved together, a little disjointed but in-sync enough to be effective. One reached into her coat and withdrew a pistol, and the other pulled a large hunting knife from his belt. The third scavenger fell back, turning to check on their friend, and Adam planted a bullet in the back of their head.

The scavenger holding the knife whipped his head around to watch his comrade fall before shouting hoarsely, jolting forwards towards Adam while the other shot back at Mitch. His movements were sloppy from starvation, but he continued to move with the intense ferocity unmatched by any but those who know they’re about to die. Adam raised his gun back into position, following the man in his sight, but he was running too erratically for him to get off a good shot. He cursed under his breath, shooting a glance towards Mitch before moving away, slinging his gun around onto his back. His best bet would be to meet the scavenger halfway and try to disarm him.

It was stupid. Incredibly stupid, and incredibly dangerous. The kind of plan that Mitch and Nick would yell at him for even attempting, but Mitchell would barely look at him and Nick was back on the boat. If Adam played this right, he’d be able to overwhelm the scavenger. He had training and stamina on his side, he just needed to avoid the knife. Simple, really. He’d be fine.

The man reached him, effectively ending his deliberation, and Adam ducked under the arc of the knife, pushing the other’s arm away with his forearm. With a snarl, the scavenger attempted to kick out the back of Adam’s legs, to which he dodged and brought his arms up, using one to grapple with the hand holding the knife and the other to hit him in the gut. The scavenger hissed, wrenching his arm from Adam’s grasp and slashing the knife across his stomach. 

He could feel it rip through his jacket and shirt, felt the sting of a cut, but he couldn’t focus on it. The other didn’t have the reach to slash that deep and Adam couldn’t afford to lose any edge he had. He’d have to keep fighting.

He spun on his heel, sweeping the man’s legs out from underneath him, and he hit the ground with a dull thud, his breath audibly leaving his lungs. The knife clattered to the corroded asphalt as he gasped for air, starvation making him fragile, and Adam slid to the ground, grabbing for it. His blood was warm on his stomach, slick and sticky, and he wondered if maybe he’d misjudged the severity of the injury. He was dimly aware of gunshots behind him, the firefight between Mitch and the other scavenger persisting, and he grasped the knife, knuckles white around the handle. 

The pain from the wound was forcing his breath out in shallow gasps, and he swiveled on the balls of his feet, slashing the blade outwards at the scavenger. The man blocked the blade with his arm, howling as it dug into his skin, before rolling over and clawing at any part of Adam he could reach. He wrenched the knife out of his arm, moving underneath his grasping hands to sink it into their gut. The man choked, blood spurting from his mouth, and he dragged the knife upwards, ripping through his flesh. He could feel viscera coating his hands, could feel warm splashes of blood on his skin. His stomach roiled, throat tight, and he fought down bile. 

Adam hated killing people up close, after Black Mesa. When he was shooting from far away it was impersonal, clinical, but this close it was harder. He could feel them die, this way, and if he closed his eyes all he’d see was Mitch, beaten and bloody on the cold tile floor. It disgusted him, but he kept pushing the knife and finally the scavenger slumped to the ground, eyes glassy with the sheen of death. He staggered away, one hand clutching the cut on his stomach, the other cemented around the knife.

His head tilted towards Mitch, eyes seeking the other man, and Adam watched as he fired a final shot into the body of the scavenger he’d been facing off against. Good, that was good. Mitch was okay.

He straightened, looking down at his wound. It didn’t look too deep, he could probably leave it alone until he got back to the ship. He didn’t need to tell Mitchell. He couldn’t tell Mitchell. The idea of getting reprimanded for letting down his guard, or even just being brushed off and ignored, it made him feel sick to his stomach. 

Adam thought that maybe he just didn’t want to find out if Mitch cared or not, anymore.

“Go see what food they have. I’ll check the bodies.” Mitch spoke quietly, voice rough as he knelt next to the corpse of the scavenger. Adam nodded, standing slowly to avoid aggravating his injury. He reached the crates quickly, slumping down against them as pain wracked his body. 

The blood was warm on his chest, and he could feel it soaking through the fabric of his shirt. He pulled his hand off of the wound, and it came away dark and sticky, gore coating it. Black spotted the edge of his vision, and he gritted his teeth, standing again to look over the food.

There was enough to restock the stashes when combined with what food was still on the boat, they just had to get it back. It should be simple. Would have been, if Adam wasn't sporting a seeping stomach wound that he was determined to hide from Mitch.

“Mitch.“ He turned, not quite meeting Mitchell’s eyes. “There’s a pretty good amount over here, but we’d need to take a couple of runs. Could be better to just get Nick and have him help out.”

The other man frowned, displeased expression deepening before he stood. Adam felt a bit like he was going to collapse, stomach burning. The air between them was silent, a moment passing as they watched each other. It ended when Mitchell took a step towards Adam, something unreadable on his face before his expression shuttered and he turned around. “I’ll go get Nick. Keep watch.”

Adam nodded sluggishly, eyes fixed on Mitchell’s retreating back. Once he turned the corner, Adam dropped from the crates, stumbling over to the closest scavenger’s corpse. He knelt next to them, shaking hands reaching to tear at the fabric of their shirt. He didn’t have any bandages with him, but he could probably lift some off of Nick back on the Avalon, so a makeshift dressing would have to do. 

His hands slid on the scavenger’s jacket, and he avoided their eyes. They’d died with them open. It felt like an accusation. A condemnation. His breath shuddered in his chest, a wave of nausea washing over him. They were young, eighteen at the oldest. There was no exit wound on their face, and it made them entirely too human. Adam paused from his mission of ripping their shirt to reach out slowly and close their eyes.

God, he fucking hated corpses. 

The fabric finally ripped, and he slowly separated his own shirt from where it’d stuck to the wound. The cut was long, and although the major blood flow had stopped, there was a steady seep from where the serrated edge of the hunting knife had ripped his skin. It was painful, and Adam was lucky he had a high tolerance, otherwise Mitch definitely would have noticed that something was wrong. He pressed the skin around the cut experimentally, hissing in pain. The slow drain of blood was worrying, to say the least, and Adam could only hope that he’d stay awake long enough to get back onto the Avalon.

It was easier not to worry the other two. They didn’t need to know. Mitch would just get angry at him, and Nick would pity him, and the thought of dealing with that made his skin crawl. He’d be fine, he’d gotten through worse.

It hit him then, as he slowly wrapped his wound, that maybe Mitch had noticed he was wounded, and just didn’t care. Maybe he was convincing Nick to leave him behind right now. He didn’t think Mitch would do that, not over something as petty as stopping a makeout session, but it didn’t stop the cold drip of fear from slipping in.

Adam sighed, tying off the fabric and heaving himself back up. His vision wavered for a second as he stood, and he made his way back to the crates of food, fumbling with his shirt to cover the makeshift bandages.

He could feel his hands shake, minutely, blood loss making his movements lethargic. He brought his hand up, running it through his hair, and ignored how the semi-dried blood flaked off of his gloves onto the wood beneath him. 

A voice rang out from around the corner, Mitch and Nick’s quiet conversation echoing through the empty streets, and Adam pushed himself off of the boxes, pretending that his legs didn’t feel like they were about to buckle. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to stay awake, he just knew he couldn’t let the other two know he was injured.

Mitch and Nick were here, it’d be fine once he got to the ship. He stood to attention as they rounded the corner, looking resolutely past their faces, avoiding their eyes. Mitchell’s glare burned, Adam increasingly aware of it the closer the duo got to him.

“Any complications?” Nick’s voice was firm, but there was that underlying tone of warmth that seemed to saturate his words anytime he talked to Mitchell or Adam. Trust, maybe. It made the guilt almost unbearable. A beat, and then Adam registered the question, shaking his head.

“All good.” The other gave him a small smile, nodding and moving forwards to look at the crates.

“Right. Let’s get these back to the ship.”

—

The first thing that Adam registered, in his slow crawl to awareness, was that Nick was talking to him. The second was that his stomach felt as if someone had speared him on a fish hook and ripped him off. Which, now that he was thinking about it, wasn’t too far from the truth.

Hiding his injury may have been a bad idea. He’d gotten back to the Avalon Vale as intended, had managed to power through the haze of pain and acute blood loss to sloppily bandage his stomach and pass out on his bed. Perhaps Adam should have accounted for the fact that Nick and Mitch might come looking for him. 

Maybe he would have, if he’d expected them to care if he was missing.

That being said, Nick was currently speaking to him, hands grasping at Adam’s shoulders to sit him upright. Adam cracked open his eyes, blinking blearily at the other as his mind tried to parse what Nick was saying. His head was foggy, vertigo making it nearly impossible to focus.

“—idiotic self-sacrificial bullshit is gonna get you killed!” Nick paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as he took a deep breath, opening them again to meet Adam’s gaze. 

“You’re awake.” He breathed the words out like they were a surprise, and Adam realized that Nick’s hands were shaking where they rested on his shoulders. He nodded and immediately regretted it as his head spun.

“What-“ Oh, it hurt to speak. His breath caught as a shiver of pain wracked his body, before he continued. “What happened? Was just supposed to be… alone.”

Nick’s brows creased and he paused, hands stilling on the edge of Adam’s shoddy wound dressings. “What happened? You didn’t tell Mitchell and I that you were injured and almost went into hypovolemic shock.”

Anger dripped from his voice, his words quiet but forceful. “You disappeared after the supply run and I was worried, so I went looking for you.”

He turned his head away, holding an inhale for a moment before letting it out, shoulders slumping. The other’s hand came up to rub his eyes and Adam’s breath caught in his throat. Nick’s fingers were covered in what was, presumably, Adam’s blood.

“I thought you were dead.”

Adam stared at Nick, and the other ducked his head, hands returning to his bandages. A second passed, and then Adam spoke. “I- I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Nick’s shoulders tightened, the bandages he was holding locked in an iron grip. He still wasn’t looking at Adam. “No! You weren’t. You were being stupid, and reckless, and you absolutely weren’t thinking.”

His breath shuddered in his chest, and Adam felt it, saw Nick’s frame shake. “Do you know what it would’ve done to Mitchell, if you died?”

Adam was silent. He didn’t know what it would’ve done to Mitch. His best guess was that the other man would be sad for a bit and then move on. If he ever found out, when he found out about Black Mesa, Adam imagined the grief would go away entirely.

“Do you think that low of yourself? That we wouldn’t care if you were dead?” Nick’s hand had stilled on Adam’s chest, fingertips lingering over his heart.

“I don’t need your pity.” Adam’s voice was rough, a bit breathless.

“This isn’t my fucking pity!” The other’s head finally lifted, gaze meeting Adam’s again, and his glare burned. Nick’s fury consumed his expression like a raging inferno, twisting his face. “I care about you! Mitchell cares about you!

“Stop wallowing in your angst because you’ve gotten it into your head that you’re unlovable! You’re part of our team. We need you.” Adam opened his mouth and Nick’s glare sharpened. “Don’t throw away what you have by getting killed, Adam.”

Adam pushed himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth past the pain.

“Can you leave?”

“What? No!” His hands were still shaking against Adam’s chest.

“Nick.”

“Adam.”

Adam wrapped his hand around Nick’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his wound.

“I can take care of myself. I’m asking you to leave.”

“Adam, I’m not going to leave you alone while you’re suffering from acute blood loss.” Nick carefully returned his hands to the wound, clearing the gauze Adam had slapped on it away from the cut.

“Then stop talking. I don’t need your diagnosis of my issues.” He sighed. “You don’t know me.”

“Adam-”

“You may think you do, but I promise. You don’t.” Nick stared at him, and Adam refused to meet his eyes. “If you knew me, you and Mitch would want me dead.”

A dead quiet fell across the two of them, the only noise echoes from other parts of the ship and the soft sounds of Nick treating Adam’s wound. 

“I’m going to have to stitch it.” Nick’s voice was quiet, and Adam nodded, slowly, allowing the other to lean past him to pull the supplies out of his first aid kit. They were both silent as Nick threaded the needle, the quiet flick of the lighter he used to sterilize it echoing through the small room. He began to stitch.

The sharp pull of the needle was almost enough to distract Adam from his thoughts. Almost. He grit his teeth against the pain, leaned his head back, and watched Nick as he worked.

Adam wished it could be different. He wished he could look Nick in the eyes and not feel like he was lying. He wished he was good enough for him. Nick said that he and Mitch cared for him, but at what cost? How long would it last before they realized he wasn’t worth it?

He was so tired of lying.

Nick finished, slowly, and tied off the thread. He sat back, eyes looking somewhere past Adam, as if he was deliberating something. 

“Mitchell thinks you’re disgusted by him.”

Adam didn’t respond.

“Are you?”

He shook his head, ignoring the pressure in his chest, and closed his eyes against the burning onslaught of loathing he felt. Against what he’d done, who he was. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. Choked. “No, not by him.”

Silence. Adam knew that Nick knew what he meant.

He couldn’t trust himself to speak, instead opening his eyes slowly to look at Nick, who looked gutted.

“Why?”

A rough laugh tore itself from Adam’s throat, devoid of humor, and he shook his head. He couldn’t answer that. He didn’t have the words.

Once he realized Adam wasn’t going to say anything Nick sighed. The other’s hand slowly rose, thumb swiping once underneath Adam’s eye, bits of Adam’s blood flaking off to dust his cheek, and he didn’t need words.

Adam leaned into the touch and it was easy, to let Nick hold his face, to let his hand drop back down and let him slowly return to dressing the wound, covering the fresh stitches. Being around Nick was easy, he thought.

“Nick, ‘m tired.”

The other sighed, swiping his hand through Adam’s hair, leaning his leg against Adam’s own. His eyes creased apologetically as he assessed the wound.

“I can’t let you fall asleep, I’m sorry. Just a bit longer.”

Adam shook his head, hand slowly coming up to rest on the side of Nick’s neck, fingers tangling through the longer pieces of hair that sat near the base of his skull. “Not- not sleep. Tired of lying. Of feeling guilty.”

“Guilty for what?”

And Adam was quiet, words escaping him, but he knew what he had to say. Knew the way his mouth would shape the syllables, how they’d sound as he spoke them. He’d never said them out loud, but they’d haunted him, chased him since that day in Black Mesa.

He was exhausted by this lie he’d been living. Maybe it was blood loss. Maybe it was just half a decade of guilt and deceit finally pouring over, but he wanted to tell Nick. Say everything he hadn’t said, couldn’t say to Mitch. It would be so easy. 

So easy to speak the words, tell him what he’d done. And it terrified him, to think about. But he knew that he wasn’t ready for whatever would happen, whatever Nick would do. He didn’t have anything left. He was far too much of a coward to put a bullet between his own eyes, but telling Nick would likely feel the same.

He closed his mouth, turning his face away from the man in front of him.

“Adam.” And Nick said it like a warning, to himself, to Adam, as if he was scared of saying anything more.

Adam tilted his head back, eyes fixed on the water-stained ceiling. His breath shuddered in his chest, terror and anticipation making his body feel light, as if he would break at whatever Nick said next. 

“What are you guilty about? You’re scaring me.”

He slid his hand down to rest on Nick’s cheek, let his fingers grasp at the other’s jaw, pinkie pressed to his pulse. A smile that felt more like a grimace spread across Adam’s face and his head spun. He was getting dizzy from everything, the blood loss and the gentle bump of Nick’s life in his veins and just being around someone like him. Part of Adam wanted to sob, to cry and scream and slam his knuckles against the wall with enough force to shatter them, but he was so numb.

Adam shrugged, shoulder jostling both of them. He had to say something. Bend the truth. Adam knew how to lie, and he barely had to, now. It was a lie of omission.

His voice was ragged, a shameful whisper. “Black Mesa. Killed a lot of people, Mitch was-“ 

He cut himself off. His words were starting to slur, the exhaustion from the injury washing over him once more.

“Didn’t want to- to kill them. So many people. Had to. And ‘ve never regretted s’mething more” Adam lifted his other hand, settling it over Nick’s heart haphazardly. “Sorry. ‘m sorry. Disgusting.”

Nick was silent, brow furrowed as he stared at Adam as if he was seeing him for the first time. Slowly, he lifted his hand to rest over Adam’s where it lay on his cheek, pulling it off and lowering it. He sat back, sighing, and shut his eyes for a moment before blowing out a shaky breath and meeting Adam’s gaze.

“Adam. I don’t- can’t know what happened to make you k-“ He stopped himself, dragging a breath out into the dead air between them. “kill them, and it’s not my place to forgive you. But you regret it. And I care for you. Too much to let this change anything.”

He didn’t think this was something he’d ever get. A chance. Something close to happiness flowed through Adam’s veins, unfurling in his chest. 

“I just need time. To think, okay?” 

Adam nodded, helplessly, and an unbreakable silence Nick secured the bandage around his stomach, pulling himself to stand. “You should be good to sleep, just be careful not to jostle the wound. I’ll get one of the kids to bring you some water and food, make sure to drink and eat all of it.”

He turned, hand reaching for the door, and Adam realized that he didn’t want to be alone. Not now, not anymore.

“Wait, Nick.” The other looked at him, expression unreadable, hand still on the doorknob. Adam ignored the steady drip of apprehension in his gut as he spoke. “Can you stay? Just for now?”

Nick sighed, head tilting apologetically. “Adam, you know I can’t.”

He stepped back into the room, hand finding Adam’s cheek again. 

“I’ll see you when I’m ready.”

He nodded, pretended his stomach didn’t feel like it was sinking to the floor. Nick dropped his hand, turned away once more. Adam could feel him slipping from his grasp.

Nick opened the door, stepping through.

“I’m sorry.” It was a whisper. A confession and a condemnation. The words left Adam like they were a secret. He knew Nick heard him.

The door closed, shutting with a finality that Adam felt.

—

Adam woke to someone else in his bunk. The lights were off—pitch-black permeating the small space—and he couldn’t see them, but he could hear them breathing.

It wasn’t Nick, wasn’t one of the kids. Adam knew who the hitching breaths belonged to. The distinctive ragged inhale, the stuttering exhales. They were a creature that was loud and wounded attempting to be quiet. He’d almost go so far as to say he’d memorized them, over the years. 

“Mitch.”

There wasn’t an answer, but Adam heard the slow shift in fabric as Mitchell moved towards him. And Adam knew, objectively, that Mitch wouldn’t hurt him. But here, alone, with Mitch’s face obscured, fear sat low in his stomach.

“You know, if you wanted to kill me, you should’ve done it while I was unconscious.” Adam’s feeble attempt at a joke fell flat, echoing quietly through the small room.

“I’m not here to kill you.” Mitch paused, voice hushed. “You seem-“

He cut himself off with a short cough, and Adam could hear him moving through the room. They sat in silence for a moment until the end of the bed dipped as Mitchell settled on the end. Still, the overbearing fog of quiet coated the room, thick and empty. Adam wanted to say something, but he knew he’d find no words.

“You seem content enough trying to get yourself killed.” Adam opened his mouth and Mitch cut him off, mattress creaking as he leaned towards the other. “I don’t want to hear excuses, Adam.”

“You’re angry.” That was a given. Mitch was angry on the best of days, Adam imagined that right now he was furious.

“Angry? Yeah, no shit. You could’ve fucking died, Adam.” The mattress creaked as Mitch’s weight shifted.

He said nothing. There wasn’t anything he could say. Adam had been doing what he thought was best for everyone. Mitch wouldn’t understand that. He’d take it as an insult, see it as a slight on his character. And he wouldn’t blame him for that, it was just who Mitchell was. 

Just as Adam lied, concealed, Mitch was a solid force, brutal in his lack of regard for the world. If Mitch had an issue, he let it be known and corrected it in his own way. His pride was his armor, honesty his sword.

Adam thought that maybe Mitch had spent so long with nothing but his image that he didn’t know who he was outside of the persona he portrayed.

“Are you going to say anything? Defend yourself?” Mitch’s voice was slowly rising, barely-masked fury coloring his words.

“What do you want to hear, Mitch? That I regret hiding it?” Adam was almost caught off guard by how exhausted he sounded, but then again, a part of him wasn’t surprised in the slightest. It was the kind of exhaustion that didn’t result from a lack of sleep. The bone-deep type that sinks into your chest with intent to stay. Adam was intimately familiar with it, after years of it having made a home in his ribs. “I do regret it, it was stupid.”

“So why did you try to pull that shit?” If Mitch got any louder he’d be shouting. “I want an explanation, not a lie.”

He opened his mouth to respond, before closing it again. He couldn’t explain himself. Not in a way that made sense. Adam was certain that “Sorry Mitch, I didn’t tell you I was injured because I didn’t think you’d care, and I thought I deserved it.” wouldn’t blow over well. 

The silence was oppressive, physical. Mitch had to have realized that Adam wasn’t going to answer him by now.

After what felt like an eternity, the bed creaked again, Mitch’s weight lifting off of the end. He was leaving. Something dark sat low in Adam’s gut. He hadn’t felt the need to cry since he was a child, had his tears stolen from him by cherry red nail polish, and a faux-pearl smile. He couldn’t remember how it felt, but he surmised that the dread pooling in his stomach was likely quite similar.

The last time something like this happened, Mitch ignored him completely. And, Adam realized, he didn’t want to do that again. He pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the pain in his stomach.

“Mitch, wait.” The noise of Mitchell’s movement stopped, the only sound the staccato of their breaths. 

“I didn’t hide it because I don’t trust you.”

Adam wrapped the scratchy blanket around his fingers, grounding himself against the tide of guilt that roared in his gut. Mitch was unreadable in the darkness. “I just- I didn’t think you’d care.”

It said a lot about how long Adam had been watching Mitch—studying his movements and his actions, how he responded to things—that he could almost see how the other reacted, despite the lack of light. The slight squaring of his shoulders, the tightening of his fists. The quiet dragged on, excruciatingly. 

“Why?” Mitch’s voice was flat, controlled anger buzzing beneath it like a live wire.

Why did Adam think he wouldn’t care? He barely knew himself; maybe it was the abrupt switch to ignoring him, after the supply closet. Maybe it was Adam’s own loathing, he wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t explain that to Mitch. Couldn’t tell him that it would be easier if Mitchell did hate him. 

Adam was a coward, and no amount of injury and guilt would change that.

“You haven’t seemed to care much lately, how was I supposed to know differently?” He barely stifled the emotion rising in his chest, and Adam was suddenly grateful for the thick walls between bunks.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Footsteps rang throughout the small room as Mitch approached the bed again.

Adam dragged in a breath, fought to keep his voice down. “You’ve been ignoring me since the supply closet, Mitch.”

“That was your fucking fault. Not mine.”

Mitch was closer now, near enough to Adam that he could feel the slight heat of air that surrounded him, too warm to be nothing and too cool to be anyone else. His heart raced in his chest, and he pulled himself up further. 

Closer now. Mitchell’s breath was soft on his face.

Adam spoke, voice falling to something barely above a whisper. He wasn’t sure he could speak any louder, with how his heart sat tight in his throat, pounding. “I didn’t want to stop kissing you, that day.”

He could feel Mitch heave a shuddering breath, and Adam moved closer, involuntarily, eyes flicking to where Mitch’s lips would be.

“Stop fucking talking.” 

Mitchell kissed him, then, like he had something to prove, moving into Adam’s space as if it was his own. Adam kissed him back like he had something to lose, hands moving to tangle in Mitch’s shirt as if he’d disappear the moment he lost contact. 

They moved in tandem, half a decade of observation and awareness culminating into one kiss. The rest of the world was nothing but Mitchell, at that moment. Perhaps it was tunnel vision, perhaps nothing at all, but Adam was entirely focused on the feeling of Mitchell’s lips on his own, the heady brush of Mitch’s hands against his. Where the kiss in the supply closet had been rough, frantic, this one had purpose. The kiss they’d had before may have meant something, but this one meant everything.

Adam let Mitch push him back against the bed frame, the other’s hands forceful but cautious, pulling back for a second to drag in a breath before meeting Mitchell once more. 

Mitch’s face was rough where Adam’s fingers brushed his cheek, scar tissue distorting his skin. It was almost unbearable, almost enough to make Adam push Mitchell back once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He and Mitch were perched on a cliff face, and if Adam turned around, let Mitchell fall alone, he’d never get another chance. 

He was tired of running away.

Adam pushed forwards, kissing Mitchell with purpose, hand sliding down to wrap around his neck. He could feel the other tense above him, felt Mitch push back, and then they were moving together again, chests heaving as their breaths mingled. The unsteady thrum of Mitch’s blood in his veins was heavy on the tips of Adam’s fingers. His pulse was beating in time with an irregular organ as it harmonized with the crash of Adam’s own heartbeat, an orchestra to which they waltzed.

The story went, as it was told in scripture, that Adam was the epitome of man. The original, from which Eve was fashioned, modeled after God Himself. And the story went, as it was told on the tongues of people, that it was Eve who was tempted. Eve who bit into the flesh of the fruit, who brought it to Adam, and that together they realized they’d been laid bare. It was together that they fled the garden, and in tandem that they tasted sin.

Now, as it was, Adam was no epiphany. He was molded in God’s image, but only so much as any other is. The Avalon Vale is not Eden, and he is not the original. Now, as it was, there was no Eve, and Adam was entirely alone in his temptation. The taste of Mitchell on his tongue, the sweet copper of blood. Forbidden, damning. 

Adam has never spoken to God, and no matter how many times his mother quoted scripture at him—when she was still breathing—he could not find it within him to believe in the stories of the Bible. But he knew, if there was a God, watching from above, He was cruel, and He was cold, and He was only letting Adam this close to as punishment. And yet. Mitchell’s hands on his chest, lips against his, heart beating like a frantic knock on a solid cedar door, that was temptation, and that was religion. 

He paused, pulling back from Mitchell, just barely. They were still close, close enough that their lips brushed, their breath mingled. Mitch said nothing, and he and Adam both knew this was different from the supply closet.

“You’re too good for me, you know,” Adam spoke it softly, quietly. His lips moved against Mitchell’s as they formed the words, and they were stolen from his mouth as the other inhaled, spoken as he exhaled. Mitchell’s hands tightened around him, and he kissed him then, forcefully, but not painfully, and did not say anything when Adam held still.

“I’ve never been too good for anyone.”

Mitchell kissed him like it was something to remember. He kissed him like it was a reward to pull Adam’s lip between his teeth and tangle their fingers together, pressed against each other like they’d never known anything else.

He laid his head slowly into the crook of Adam’s neck, kissing it, barely, before biting at the skin above his collarbone. Adam lifted his chin, letting Mitch work at his neck as he tried to parse the darkness of his room. He’d never believed he’d get this, never thought he’d be allowed this close. It was exhilarating.

Here, in the dark, it was easier to examine what he felt for Mitch and call it love. Here, when it was just them, it didn’t feel like it held the weight it did in the light. He wouldn’t say it, for he was all too much of a coward to, but Adam would allow himself to entertain the idea of loving Mitchell. 

Perhaps, eventually, he could put it to words, if Mitchell would allow him that.

For now, though, he would let Mitchell kiss him, and he would kiss Mitch back, and bask in it. Later, he will laugh as they part, joke about kissing on the first date, and Mitch will glare at him, and say you’re an asshole like some people say I adore you. And Adam will retort by saying I bet you like that, don’t you like a poet might say I’d relieve Atlas of his burden if only to see you smile at me. And something will lay unsaid between them. Something soft, fragile. Neither will have the courage to voice it, but they’ll both know. 

And that will be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy this one took me fuckin forever. really hope y'all enjoyed it bcuz I'm not that into hdtf anymore and editing this was a PAIN. big thx to the hdtf hell discord for being by my side for all of this mwah mwah i adore y'all
> 
> title from "no care" by daughter


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